


In Room 138

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Krycek takes action when he realizes his partnership with Mulder will be ending soon.





	In Room 138

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

In Room 138 By Tj

22 September 1998  
In Room 138  
By Tj, September 1998  
NC-17 M/K  
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I am making no money off of this.  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: Krycek takes action when he realizes his partnership with Mulder will be ending soon.  
Many thanks to Q for patience and beta reading. All remaining mistakes should be considered hers. (ha ha)  
Like it or loathe it, please send feedback to: 

* * *

it's you that I adore  
you'll always be my whore

you'll be a lover in my bed  
and a gun to my head

      -Smashing Pumpkins, "Ava Adore"

* * *

I don't like spitting in the face of someone I care about. It doesn't happen often, simply because there aren't many people I care about. But it does happen, and I'm about to do it again. There's this guy Mulder... what should I say about him here? Should I wax poetic over his intense intelligence, his volcanic passion, the way he looks when he wears those little wire rimmed glasses, the way I could suck on his fleshy lower lip for hours, the way he makes me feel like I want him to eat me from the inside out? Mmm, maybe later.

Right now, I'm standing in his hotel room after having let myself in through the connecting door to our rooms, something which was a request on my part. Mulder had no idea that I was behind that one. But it's getting harder to keep things from him; he's facing the truth bound in a blindfold with a steadily loosening knot. If my orders follow the timeline set for them, then Mulder will soon know the truth about me and hate me accordingly. He's going to hate me even more if I follow through on what I've planned for us today. But what does it matter if he hates me a little or hates me a lot, when at least this way I can come away from it with the taste of his skin on my tongue.

His shower water stopped a few minutes ago, so I'm standing now. I had been sitting on his bed, inhaling the scent of him from the shirt he'd tossed there. It smelled like evergreen, and cinnamon, a touch of sweat, and undisguised Mulder. Irrationally I thought of stealing it, of taking it with me as a souvenir, to use it for reliving memories, to use it to jerk off. But why start that now? No possessions were important to me, and the only things I wanted to keep track of were my wits and my gun. My father taught me that. Keep few belongings, make sure there's nothing you can't live without; you never know when you'll have to leave them behind, or when someone will be around to snoop through them. My father made a living out of being an asshole, too.

Mulder would probably like knowing that I could get off on a piece of his clothing. He's as big a pervert as I am. That he wants me I don't doubt; that I can pull this game of seduction off, well, I'm fairly certain. I've studied Mulder on paper and in person, as a professional and as an acquaintance, and as difficult as he is to work out, I've managed to learn a few things about him. Trust is important; I'll need to show him that I want the same things he does, to convince him that with me he can let go and I won't laugh in his face when it's over. And it's true. I want a pure, primal fuck just like he does. Mulder could probably get laid a hundred times a day if he'd just let go of this trust issue; really, it's making him a sexual hermit.

The bathroom door squealed open, signaling show time, and Mulder emerged wearing a dark green robe made of some thin material. The front of the robe was stretched in an open v-shape, as if it were too small for him or was put on in a hurry. On that exposed space of flesh I could see droplets of water trickling over his skin. How I envied every drop that clung to him and slid down his body. His hair stood out in several directions, a victim of rough towel technique.

He looked at me with confusion but didn't seem disturbed by my presence, and instead smiled at me with simple curiosity. Mulder's smiles were rare anyway, and a small shiver echoed in my bones knowing that this one would be one of the last he'd ever give me. I almost felt like a dying person wondering if they'd seen their last sunset, and in a way it was like that. Soon would occur the demise of Mulder's faith in me.

"What's wrong, Krycek? Did you forget which room is yours?" Mulder ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down, but some of the shorter strands stuck up anyway. "Did you find out something about the case?"

With cancerous gloom spreading rampant through my thoughts, I almost forgot how to play the game, and ended up just standng there for a few moments. But I looked at Mulder, felt a kick in my groin, and jumped in with my first move.

I stepped closer so that I was only a couple feet away, shoved my hands in my pockets, eyed him casually. "Why don't you touch yourself for me, Mulder."

He almost smiled again, but it faded along with the laugh that rose in his throat and died in his mouth. "Excuse me?" He slipped a towel from around his neck, tossed it onto the back of the nearby chair.

I watched him, hard, forced him to feel my eyes on him. When I spoke I kept my voice real, matter-of-fact. "I'm very aware of which room I'm in. I'm here because I want to be. I'm here because I'm tired of thinking about fucking you instead of doing it."

"You couldn't have just stopped by to borrow toothpaste?" Ah, Mulder's sarcasm. He never left home without it. And it served him well. His voice was steady as a rock, he didn't sound nervous, or interested. Too bad about that rising hard-on under his robe.

I was only mildly surprised that his body was reacting so quickly. While we weren't exactly overt about our attraction to one another, we weren't desperately trying to bury it either. I hate to use the phrase 'smoldering looks across a crowded room', but those smoldering looks across a crowded room got me through more than a few boring FBI cases and meetings.

I raked his body with a gaze. "Toothpaste I have."

I looked into his face, saw desperation settled in. I wondered if he realized how imploring his eyes were, if he understood how they asked for things that his mouth wouldn't. He was crumbling quickly, a wall corroding with only a few words, and I found myself getting harder at the thought that he wanted it that much.

I closed the gap between us some more, moved close enough to him so that I could smell the dampness of his skin and the clean scent of the shower. Under the robe his chest was beginning a quick heave. I placed my hand against the rise of it, felt wetness and softness over the solidity of his breastbone. Under there his heart was beginning to beat faster. I dipped my head forward, let my tongue run a fast lick up his lips. His mouth responded, parted under my touch, lightly groped for more. But I pulled back and dropped my hand, unwilling to give too much too soon.

I began to circle his body, certainly a bird after its prey. I stopped when I was directly behind him and only an inch away. I waited, still as a cadaver.

Mulder made no move to turn and look at me, but he spoke after only seconds. "Krycek." And that was all he seemed to be able to say, this man of so many words, ideas, and data.

I leaned forward, let my lips graze his left ear. "Yes, Mulder." Looking down I could see the head of his cock peaking out of his robe, the material draped on either side, like an actor peering out through the curtains to his audience. His hands were at his sides, fingers turned in towards his thighs, they ticked subtly, skidded over the material underneath. He didn't know whether to touch me or wait for my touch, whether to make the next move or let me do it.

I let him wait in agony a bit longer; that way in the end he'd enjoy it more and come harder. I'm thoughtful that way. But I wanted this, too, and soon I had placed my body against the back of his, pressing forward until we were a continuation of one another. Through the thin robe I could easily feel the firm round shape of his ass, and in return I knew he could feel the mounting hardness of my erection. If he had any doubts about my sincerity before, then that should have wiped them away, because my cock was aching for him.

I threaded my right arm under his, found the break in material that would allow access to his body and snaked my hand inside to his thigh. My hand was cupped towards the inside of his leg and I moved it upwards slowly until his balls rested heavily against it, until I could find that small, secret hollow where the leg meets the torso. Two fingers sunk into that spot and I caressed the area gently. A quiet, deep cry caught in Mulder's throat and his knees briefly buckled. God, how I wanted him to just go ahead and come right then, so that it would happen while he was in my arms, so that the release of his body would spill into mine.

His hand grabbed my arm in reaction to his body's response, and he held on with bone-splintering strength. "Mulder, relax." I kissed his ear, kissed the side of his neck. "I've got something to tell you."

He tilted his head back, exposed more of his neck for me to nibble on. "What, Alex?" His voice had deepened to a level I'd never heard before, rising out of some profound abyss of emotion I had never tapped into.

This would be roughly the fifth time since our having met that I would be sharing truths with him instead of lies. "You're beautiful. You're the most arousing thing I've ever touched. You can't understand how much I want you." More kisses against his neck, heat on heat. "I want you to touch yourself for me. Show me how you like it."

Mulder was burning, I could feel it through his skin. Heat rises.

He pushed back against me, an agonizing caress over my crotch. I found the tie of his robe, tugged it once, and sent it falling open. This was better than any Christmas present I'd ever opened. Sometimes the best gifts don't come in small packages. His cock was standing at full attention, a silky dust of pink from base to head, a shiny drop resting on its tip. I wanted to sink to my knees, take it in my mouth, gag on it with need. But luckily Mulder was playing by my rules even when I no longer wanted to and his own hand was now slipping down the length, fingertips brushing the way before the palm settled down. He moved slowly, teasing himself. His head tilted back, resting against my shoulder. I awkwardly turned my head towards his face, watched as his mouth fell open and his Adams apple jutted upwards. His breath was raspy, quick, barely escaping into the air. I knew he'd like doing this for me. He wanted to perform, to be watched, to be accepted in these most exposing of circumstances, when his life was usually spent behind a desk or TV, or out in the world where others would only scoff at his ideas.

For some time I lost myself in Mulder's steady, rhythmic touches, and then I joined my hand with his, stroked along the underside, tracing the vein there with my thumb. He choked, his body trembling, caught on the edge of an orgasm. "Feel this?" I whispered. "This is us touching you. I'm touching you, Mulder. You're not alone."

"Krycek... Alex.. I have to... I can't..." Faster, uneven strokes building. Desperate choked sounds.

I moved my arms to around his waist, pulled him close enough to suffocate myself, and rubbed my face into the damp threads of his hair. "Go ahead, Mulder. Do it." That was all it took before he succinctly performed life's three great 'C's: convulsed, cried, came.

He might have collapsed if I hadn't been holding him. He was so beautifully flushed, so vulnerable, so open to me. I knew this was something few people in his life would ever experience. I stood with a wave of nausea slamming through my gut. I suddenly wanted to scream, to beat things, to tear at my face for who I was and what I would be to him in the end. This I wasn't expecting, not these feelings so painful and discrepant.

Mulder turned in my arms, smiled brighter than a high noon sun and slipped the fingers of his left hand into my hair. The right one traced down the front of my shirt, marking its path with a sticky trail of himself. He sunk is mouth into mine, kissed me sweetly, lushly, setting my heart beating to the pace of tribal drums. Inside I had shattered, my thread of purpose tangled in the ruins. I felt disturbingly weepy. I had done this to myself, trapped myself in this moment where things would never be the same again.

Mulder's kisses strengthened, taking away my heat, my energy, my nourishment. His lips moved upwards, their wetness rubbing over my cheeks, temples, eyelids. "You're eyes are so beautiful." A tongue tip swabbed delicately over my lashes.

My hunger for him mounted, smothering me even as my mind was racked with hate and despair. It only made the pain thicken, made me want to just shove him away, leave and never look back.

Here he was, this beautiful, brilliant guy and everything in me that appealed to him was only a lie. He didn't want who I was, he wanted who he thought I was. But who would want me? A back alley thug with ten tattoos, five brain cells and zero morals?

I jerked my head back, out of his lips' touch. "Mulder, I..."

"I know, Alex." He looked at me with hazy, softened eyes while his hands worked on the closures of my suit pants. Sweet face, dirty deeds.

I almost came just from the release of my cock from the confines of my clothes. There I was, pants and underwear around my ankles while Mulder moved to his knees in front of me. For a second I felt like we were a couple of teenage boys playing hooky and stealing a moment in a parent's bedroom.

And then Mulder slipped me deep into his mouth, almost taking the whole of it on the first slide down, and there were no more seconds, no more moments, everything just melted away, warped like a record left in the destroying sun. Emotions became muted background music and the universe transformed to the size, shape and action of Mulder's mouth. Noises of desperation were burned in my throat and choked out into the air.

Down below, Mulder was working so hard, with his eyes closed, his face a mask of concentration, his mouth a perfect sucking tunnel; one hand held my shirt back, the other cupped my balls. But it seemed he had the easy job. My body was ready to explode, brimming at capacity, waiting at the edge of a precipice for someone to push the remains over. My mind, infected with dementia. It was so damn good.

Indeed it was my body and sexual expertise that he wanted, regardless of how he saw me as a person. Everything dropped back into place. Urgent needs and my sense of purpose found their way back home. That pure primal fuck, I wanted it again. Tomorrow can burn in hell. The here and now, I'm going to finish writing.

"Mulder, I need you to stop." Wasn't easy to say. My cock bobbed out of his mouth, its sudden contact with the air startling, a babe out of the womb.

I crouched down to pull my pants up and in the motion kissed the top of Mulder's head, soothing the wounded. I settled the clothes around my delicate situation the best that I could and then grabbed Mulder's rising frame to me. I held him tightly by the declining curve of his shoulders and kissed him hard, my mouth a starved animal finding food. He returned it for all he was worth, his tongue slipping a taste of me against mine. Our mouths were clinging to one another, sending traipsing shivers down my spine. It felt like we could have gone on for hours that way, but Mulder was hard again and I was harder still and other needs had to be taken care of. Instinctively a mutual stopping point was found. We stayed close together, the high edges of our foreheads touching, our chests bumping in unsynchronized states of breathlessness.

I took him by the hand. "Come." I tugged him towards the chair.

I went to sit on it, but Mulder's hand in mine pulled me to a stop. "That towel is still wet." And then he looked at my shirt. "Oh. That's probably machine washable isn't it?"

I smacked him lightly on the cheek. "Your Armani-wearing ass is mine, Mulder. You better watch what you say."

He chuckled, beamed at me. Oh yeah, he was handing me his ass on a silver platter.

I sat on the edge of the chair, kicked off my shoes and socks, finally wrenched off those damn pants and the underwear. I was now naked from the waist down and wearing a dress shirt and tie from the waist up. That ought to fuel some work office fantasies for Mulder. He'll be wanting me over his desk for days. It would be so wonderfully wrong to mark his desk that way, with the impossible-to-lose memory of us together on it. He'll still think of me when I'm gone. While in the midst of paperwork, there on the desktop will loom a vision of my naked ass.

I groped inside a pocket of my pants and found a condom and a small tube of lubricant. Travel size. How convenient. I was glad I wasn't trying to make this look unplanned, or I would have blown it about now. Though judging by the raging hard-on begging in front of me, it probably wouldn't have mattered at this point. We were well on our way to the point of no return. It would have taken fire-breathing men with machetes to stop us now.

I leaned back into the blessedly cushioned chair, my ass still on the edge of it, and undid a few of the buttons near the bottom of my shirt, parting the white tails to either side of my body. I opened the condom, began sliding it down and looked at Mulder, securing his eyes with mine. "I'm going to fuck you like this. Slide your robe off. I want to watch your body move." My voice was as thick and heavy as my cock.

Mulder swallowed. The robe was discarded.

I slathered some extra lubrication over the condom. He'd been a good boy today; I didn't want to make things too difficult for him. "Turn around." He moved in a slow graceful arc, and then there it was. Perfection. The ass of my dreams.

I put my hands on his hips and pulled him back between the wide part of my legs, gently so that he didn't topple. "Brace yourself," I said, and then moved my hands to cup his ass, thumbs parting the cheeks, palms helping to support the weight as he leaned back at this awkward angle. I aimed myself towards the closest I'd ever get to heaven. Mulder felt the nudge and began to lower himself further. The head slipped in and we moaned in near unison. He braced his hands on his thighs, inched down a bit more and then suddenly slid the rest in in one solid, smooth motion. I cried out in surprise and rapture. I'd found home.

I looked at the sculptured masterpiece that was Mulder's back. Every line and angle was a flawless, refined carving wrapped in an expanse of faultless skin. It seemed he was perfect from every angle. I watched as perspiration broke out in sliding rivulets, striping his shoulder blades, his spine.

Mulder's moves were slow and generous, englufing. I lost more and more brain cells with every stroke until I soon dropped down to drooling Neanderthal level.

"Alex," Mulder panted, "I need to be touched."

"Huh?" I tried to think, which wasn't easy with all the blood of my body concentrated in my crotch. I wrenched myself from the deeply sunk claws of ecstasy, only enough to allow me a simple thought process, and considered Mulder's statement.

Mulder wasn't having any of this lethargy. "Alex! Give me a hand job or I'll kill you."

Oh. Mulder was in a precarious position. His knees were surely burning, his thighs aching, the muscles stretched and straining. He couldn't afford to tilt the balance off center. And I in no way wanted to lose the contact of his body.

My hand moved from his hipbone to his cock. He moaned the minute I touched down. "Alex. Yes, Alex." To hear him say my name that way was enough to throw me back into the waters of stupefying lust. He clenched his ass around me, a caressing vice, and I was drowning. I gasped, gulped for more air.

"Mulder, faster, don't stop." He worked his ass up and down and I quickened the pace of my hand. We were both moaning heavily, the sounds of it filling in empty spaces of the room. And then Mulder's cock was spilling hot into my hand, his back arching. He kept moving, squeezing, bringing me towards my end. I wanted to call out his name during the ride of orgasm, to say it and have him hear it, to not have it ringing lonely in my head. And then I was slammed by lightening, dying with the name Mulder on my lips.

Mulder recovered faster than I did. He took care of the condom and pulled me with him to the bed to find sleep. He curled his body against mine. He was sticky everywhere his body touched mine, but I couldn't have cared or less.

He touched my face as he searched it with his eyes. I couldn't quite bring myself to look at him. Was this what it was like to feel regret and guilt? Mulder was affecting me in ways I wouldn't have admitted, but this intimacy had stripped me, left me raw and bloody, open to dangerous infections.

"Alex," he kissed my head "you're so brave. All the things I've seen and done in this line of work and I was afraid to even try to kiss you."

"Well, now you've done more than kiss me. I'm really tired, Mulder." I wanted to sit up but he was draped over me. "Maybe I should go back to my room."

He settled his head on my shoulder. "You can rest here. I promise not to eat sunflower seeds in bed."

I said nothing and neither did he, again. I placed an unsure hand at the nape of his neck and felt the muscles under it relax while he drifted off to sleep.

I don't like to spit in the face of someone I care about, but I do like coming up their ass.

Today was mine, tomorrow the devil's.


End file.
